


Fallen to Rise

by owlmoose



Series: Pieces of Thedas [5]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Comment Fic, Gen, Post-Canon, Redeemer Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-21
Updated: 2011-11-21
Packaged: 2017-10-26 09:07:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/281254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlmoose/pseuds/owlmoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alone after the final battle, Anora considers the price of victory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fallen to Rise

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the weekly prompt post on the Dragon Age LJ community. The prompt was "Do you hear the people sing?"

The sounds of thanksgiving fill the streets of Denerim: soldiers singing marching tunes, children shrieking with happiness, citizens of once-rival bannorns walking arm in arm and laughing, traditional Elven music mixing with snippets of bawdy songs and interweaving with the Chant, all coming together in a giddy cacophony of joy and relief. The archdemon is dead, the Blight is over, and the healing can begin.

 _For all but one._ The Queen stands alone, unseeing, at the palace window, hearing the celebration from high above. Only an observer, never a part. Soon enough she will go downstairs and do her best to join them, but not just yet. Not with the name of their Dalish hero on every tongue, even though the corpse behind her is not yet cold. She can hear the people singing the praises of the Wardens, of the mages and the elves and the dwarves, of the leadership of the Guerrins... the cost of victory is already forgotten, by everyone but herself.

Turning away from the window, she runs a hand over his dark hair; he lies in state on the bier, still dressed his battered armor, the sword he used to run the archdemon through resting across his breast. Both will be burned with him, never to be used by another. She kneels at his side and places a soft kiss on his brow, smooth of anger or worry for the first time in far too many years. "I'm sorry, Father," she murmurs. "They will remember who their true hero is, in time."

A few more breaths, and then she stands, dashing away the few tears she has allowed herself. She will rejoin her people, say the right words about peace and unity, praise the Warden and present him to his adoring public. And then she will get on with the business of taking her throne -- but she will never forget the price she paid to get there.


End file.
